


Mending

by October_rust



Series: Fractured/Mending [2]
Category: Batman: Arkham (Video Games), Batman: Arkham Knight
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-02
Updated: 2017-10-02
Packaged: 2019-01-08 05:33:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12248004
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/October_rust/pseuds/October_rust
Summary: Dick saves Jason's life.





	Mending

Dick finds him in one of the warehouses that used to belong to Roman Sionis.

It's been weeks since Dick last caught a glimpse of the Red Hood – and even though Jason likes to announce his presence with blazing guns, leaving a trail of dead bodies and blown up rubble in his wake, he always disappears and melts into the shadows whenever he happens to cross paths with Dick or Tim.

Barbara is the only one Jason makes an exception for, so it's not surprising that the coordinates to this location, along with a distressed call for help, came from her, just fifteen minutes ago.

It's a carnage.

There's no other word for it, Dick thinks, as he surveys the scene. Twenty men, all dead, lying in a half circle on the floor, their limbs spread out, pools of blood all around them.

And Jason is the last one standing, slumped against the wall, his guns still clutched in his fists.

The helmet is still protecting his head, but large crimson stains are already blooming out on his shoulder and his thigh, the color as bright and deep as the red of the bat symbol adorning Jason's chest and the back of his leather jacket. Then, his legs give out under him, and he falls to his knees.

Dick is beside him in a flash, reaching out and grasping Jason's waist to steady him.

“What the hell were you thinking, going against them all alone,” he whispers, more to himself than to Jason.

It's obvious that the dead men were trained killers, mercenaries. Someone really wanted them to solve the Red Hood problem, it seems - not that surprising, given what the Red Hood has recently done to Black Mask and Black Mask's criminal empire.

Dick doesn't spare it any more thoughts, though; he hauls Jason up, keeping his arm around him, and half guides, half carries him to the exit. His muscles burn with the strain, as Jason leans heavily against him.

It's a struggle to raise his arm and grapple them up, but Dick presses Jason to his chest with his other hand, not loosening his grip even a fraction. The momentum propels them smoothly through the air, gives them enough of a boost, and they start swinging between the rooftops, the city lights glimmering below.

It's good that his safehouse is not that far away. 

By the time they get there, Jason's head is pillowed on Dick's shoulder, his hands holding weakly onto Dick's back and neck. He's still, almost unresponsive.

Alarmed, Dick quickly uses voice commands to disable the security and open a reinforced window. He maneuvers them both inside, into the living room, and then, step by a dragging step, leads Jason straight to a hidden door guarded by a retina scanner.

Behind it, there's a small, well-stocked medical bay.

Dick lowers Jason onto the cot, and gets down to work. It soon becomes a blur, as he loses himself in the routine, the practiced motions that Alfred taught him – strip off the clothes and gear, assess the damage, stop the blood loss.

He counts it as a blessing that Jason slips into full unconsciousness almost immediately. Dick has enough time to dig out the bullets, clean the wounds, and stitch the torn skin back together without worrying about causing Jason additional pain. 

He hooks up a blood bag to Jason's arm, sits down in a chair beside the cot, and watches Jason's heart rate on the monitor. Weak, but stable.

Dick rubs at his eyes, adrenaline snapping through him like an electric current. 

So close.

So terribly close.

He looks at Jason's face, at the long eyelashes casting shadows over pale cheeks, and feels blind panic welling up inside his chest.

“I cannot lose you again,” he whispers. “Not you too. Please, Jay. Don't do this to me.”

He's wrung out, but he keeps watch over Jason all through the night.

***

“You look like shit.”

Dick startles awake in the chair. He turns his head, winces at the stiffness in his neck, and meets Jason's eyes.

“I could say the same about you.” He clears his throat to get rid of the scratchiness, glances at the clock on the nightstand. “Good morning to you too.”

And then silence falls, awkward and tense.

It grows heavy and oppressive, until Jason finally sighs and gestures at himself.

“Mind helping me out of these?” he asks.

Right.

Dick gets up and moves to Jason. Pulling out the needle from Jason's arm, unhooking all the equipment monitoring the heart rate are simple enough tasks to focus on. Normal, mundane. Like that, Dick can even pretend that everything is fine between him and Jason, that they are Nightwing and Robin, two wards of Bruce Wayne.

But his gaze lingers on Jason's skin, and the illusion shatters all at once.

The wounds from the previous night are clear and dry, the stitches neat, though the edges still look raw. Just a few inches to the side, and the bullets would have done far more damage, caused a fatal blood loss. 

The realization makes Dick's stomach churn, reminding him of what almost happened yesterday. The images of Jason's pale face, his chest moving with shallow, labored breaths, flash through Dick's mind.

A few inches to the side …

It's a stark testament to the lethal violence Jason lives by now, the new rules he's created for himself.

There's no Nightwing and Robin anymore, no more Batman to guide them.

It's written all over Jason's body, and the old scars draw Dick's eye.

There's so many of them.

Ribs that were obviously broken, multiple times, and didn't get the chance to mend properly.

Faded pink marks left behind by burns.

Thick, white lines from knives and other blades.

And, of course, the “J” cut into Jason's cheek, a permanent brand.

“Told you I had a long fun stay at Arkham, didn't I?” Jason asks, and his eyes are hard, full of challenge. 

“Yeah, you did,” Dick says and licks his lips. What else can he say? Jason won't have his pity, and looking at all those scars and their tale of suffering and lost hope makes Dick want to howl in rage and grief. It shouldn't have happened, they should have kept searching in Arkham, should have brought Jason home.

But now it's too late - and that was another thing that Jason told him, when they saw each other last time, back when Jason was still the Arkham Knight.

Dick picks up two bottles of water from the nightstand, and offers one to Jason.

“Drink it,” he says.

“Thanks.” Jason uncaps the bottle, and takes a long swallow.

Back to their illusion of normalcy, the pretense of safe everyday life.

Dick sits down beside Jason, takes a sip of his water and watches the column of that strong throat move as Jason drinks. And then his gaze dips lower, to those broad shoulders, the jut of the collarbones, the expanse of the naked chest. Thick ropes of muscle stretch and ripple all the way down to the tight abdomen, the prominent cut of the narrow hips, partially obscured by Jason's underwear, and the sheets slipping down from Jason's waist.

Heat curls in the pit of Dick's stomach, sudden and unwanted.

And that's another problem, something that awakened during his first encounter with the Arkham Knight, and has clung to him ever since. Dick hates himself for it, because it's yet another betrayal on his part, a twisted part of himself that fills him with shame.

Jason is handsome, yes, exceedingly so. But it's a rugged kind of beauty, the suffering that he's endured only adding to the appeal, giving it the intensity and desperation that's impossible to resist.

And Dick shouldn't notice it, much less feel drawn to it.

He waits for Jason to finish drinking, gulps down his own water, then collects the bottles and gets up.

“I'm going to make us some food,” he says. “And you'll have to stay here for at least a week, and – “

“No.” Jason shakes his head. “Breakfast sounds good. But the rest? I'll be out of your hair as soon as possible. Maybe even tomorrow.” Then he notices the expression on Dick's face and lifts an eyebrow. “No, Dick. I'm not going to play house with you.”

Dick sighs in frustration. “It's not like that. You're injured and you need the rest.”

“Really? Is that all about it?” Jason looks him in the eye. “Or is it because you couldn't save me back then? Or maybe it's because of what happened to B?”

Dick almost flinches back. It hits too close to the truth. “Jason.”

To Dick's surprise, Jason lowers his gaze, looks to the side. He's quiet for a long while. 

“Is he really dead?” he finally asks, his voice softer. “What about Alfred?”

Dick swallows, smothers down the sadness that threatens to choke him. “We don't know. We searched the cave, and what was left of the mansion and … Nothing. No messages, no sightings of Batman. Silence, so far.”

Jason nods, still not looking at Dick. 

“I couldn't do it,” he says after another pause. His fingers clench on the sheets, his knuckles white. “I had him, it was just a matter of pulling the trigger, and ...”

He raises his eyes back to Dick, and they are a deep stormy blue. “And I couldn't do it, in the end.” 

It's too much, the torment and self-loathing reflected in Jason's gaze, so Dick drops the empty bottles on the nightstand, perches back on the cot and carefully wraps his arms around Jason, mindful of the fresh injuries. 

“And then you helped him with the Scarecrow,” he whispers into Jason's hair. “I know.”

“It's messed up,” Jason whispers back, but his hands come to rest on Dick's shoulders and pull Dick closer, tightening the embrace.

They share the warmth, drawing comfort from the simple touch. Dick strokes his palm along Jason's spine, enjoying how solid and real Jason feels, how good it is to have him back. Are you going to push me away again, he wonders, even as his hands slide down, learning anew and memorizing the hard planes of Jason's body. 

But Jason hugs him back, just as fiercely. His fingers frame Dick's jaw, angling it, so that his lips can skim over Dick's cheek. 

“Thank you,” he says, the words a soft caress against Dick's skin. “For saving my life.”

And then his lips glide lower, brushing against the corner of Dick's mouth, feather-light, almost shy. But Jason doesn't stop there, and takes it further, until his lips cover Dick's, gentle, but firm. 

Dick closes his eyes at how sweet it is, his awareness narrowing down to this one point of contact, the faint pressure of Jason's mouth, the mingling of their breaths. Just one taste, and he instantly craves more, his need for Jason, the attraction he's been trying to deny, flaring up.

And just as quickly, his guilt and doubt descend, poisoning the budding pleasure. They can't, they shouldn't, especially if Jason thinks that this kiss is something that he owes Dick.

“Jay.” He pulls back a bit, though it's still close enough that he can feel the warmth of Jason's lips, brushing against his. “You don't have to ...”

“Dick.” Jason buries his fingers in Dick's hair, tugs at the strands. His words fall over Dick's mouth. “I want this. Let me have this. Please.”

Please.

Dick draws back again, Jason's grip on his hair sending a jolt of pleasurable pain through all his nerves. He looks into Jason's eyes, and sees determination there, along with a naked desire.

And, to Dick's surprise, that dark blue gaze is also tinged with uncertainty, as Jason stares at him, anxious, waiting for Dick's decision.

“Please, Dick,” he says, his voice full of yearning.

Oh, Jay.

Wordlessly, Dick cradles Jason's face with his palms, tilts it up, and presses his lips against Jason's, pouring into the kiss all the tenderness and all the sadness he's feeling right now. His heart thuds with a bittersweet kind of joy, when Jason smiles into the kiss, and then surges into it, the response so enthusiastic, so reckless that it steals Dick's breath away.

Will it be enough this time?

The kiss ebbs to an end, a fleeting, fragile thing. But they stay like this, tangled together, their arms wound tight around each other. Jason rests his forehead against the side of Dick's neck, and Dick strokes Jason's hair, just like he did the last time, in the Arkham Knight's quarters.

“Stay,” he says, soft.

Jason simply kisses Dick's neck, and gives a small nod.


End file.
